


three am

by underpressure



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 22:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underpressure/pseuds/underpressure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis doesn’t make a habit of waking up in the night until he does. Until he finds himself blinking into darkness every night, eyes adjusting to make out the solid wood of his wardrobe, the curves of the lamp his mother bought at the second hand shop, the feeling in his chest that is too close to sadness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	three am

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: all of the words are mine. the people are not.
> 
>  
> 
> inspiration taken from this photo: https://31.media.tumblr.com/34e7bf51f59acfa5d7f58937218f93f0/tumblr_myajr0U93T1r3gsgeo1_500.jpg

Louis doesn’t make a habit of waking up in the night until he does. Until he finds himself blinking into darkness every night, eyes adjusting to make out the solid wood of his wardrobe, the curves of the lamp his mother bought at the second hand shop, the feeling in his chest that is too close to sadness. The first time he lied there forever, waiting for sleep to come back. He waited until his alarm went off and his mother stuck her head in, wrapped up in a towel with one too many holes, the door asking him to wake up his sisters. He does, because arguing with his mother fades from anger to guilt every fucking time. And as he shakes Lottie and Fizzy awake, he wishes he were like every other teenager that gets to fucking sleep at night.

 

When all of his friends move into flats in London, Louis tucks up on the couch and watches some film where all the characters are fucking happy. He sings along with the songs and helps the girls eat the chocolate biscuits that their mother had brought home from the break room at work. And at three o’clock in the morning, when he wakes up to thunder and lightning and the same deep loneliness that had lingered through every other fucking thing in his life, he cries from the empty feeling.

 

When his dad left and his mother cried over their breakfast the next morning, he was lonely.  When his mother married again and got pregnant, he was lonely. When he started secondary, he was lonely. When the girls’ father left, he was lonely. When he wakes up at three in the morning, he’s lonely.

 

He sobs into his pillow, muffling the sounds so that Lottie and Fizz won’t hear it next door. Won’t come and check on him. Most of all, he doesn’t want to explain. The last thing he wants to do is worry his mother. She doesn’t have the time, what with three jobs, five kids, and no husband. He stops crying around five and goes to get in the shower. Maybe today, he won’t burn the eggs to put on Phoebe and Daisy’s toast for breakfast.

 

In June, Louis gets his second job with a shift starting a five in the morning. His mother asks if he’ll be able to get up early enough. He promises he will, laughing to himself the next morning when he gets there at half-past two. The manager says something about a good impression. Louis gives a witty reply. He can’t remember it later. That morning he learns to make doughnuts, perfect coffee. He wears plastic gloves, an apron and smiles really widely at a man in a trucker hat. Smiles to big for six in the morning because the man tells him to fuck off. It almost ruins Louis’ morning. Almost.

 

When he gets to leave, at twelve on the nose and no later, another boy takes his place. He’s all lanky limbs in a red and white striped uniform, smiles like making pastries is the best thing he’s ever been taught to do.  Louis hates him. This boy can’t have ever been lonely. He’s never hurt. The way he smiles at the old man who wants the fifth plain glazed doughnut from the left, like he doesn’t mind hardships at all. The next day, he introduces himself as Harry. That night, when Louis wakes up two hours earlier than his shift starts, he squeezes his eyelids shut, tries to fall back asleep. He fails, but at least he tries.

 

Later, when Louis is looking for a new winter coat under mountains of stained t-shirts and foul smelling jeans in the two-pound cart, he sees Harry. Watches him slip socked feet into a pair of brown boots that have seen better days, watches him take careful steps nodding to himself. He slips them back off, slipping them under his arm with a few flannel tops. He grabs a random coat, jean with a sheep color and a hole in the sleeve. He fishes in his pocket for two pounds, pulling out the notes and getting to the line at the same times as Harry.

 

He bumps into him, accidently almost. Harry smile is too big for his face and it makes Louis’ heart feel too big for his chest. He smiles back and he starts, just for a minutes to full up the hole, throwing some dirt back in.

 

Two years later, Louis has made a habit of waking up at three in the morning. His eyes flicker open to black, adjusting quickly almost like clockwork. They make out the wardrobe against the wall, the lamp that they bought from Ikea. His body wakes up slowly, feeling the feet stuck between his ankles, the bony knees in the thick flesh of his thighs, the nose puffing out tickling breaths onto his collarbones. He waits for the loneliness, waits for a while but he falls asleep before it shows up.


End file.
